Sleep
by hayboo
Summary: A o/s based on the JM song...Dreaming With A Broken Heart.


This is a one-shot that was inspired by my amazing beta..kellyprovence. She was talking about a few John Mayer songs that she listened to and could see stories written because of them. When she told me the names of the songs and I saw Dreaming With A Broken heart as one of them, I instantly had this idea. I hope you like it!

**Disclaimer**: SM owns Twilight. I own this.

* * *

_When you're dreaming with a broken heart _  
_Then waking up is the hardest part _  
_You roll outta bed and down on your knees _  
_And for a moment you can hardly breathe _  
_Wondering was she really here? _  
_Is she standing in my room? _  
_No she's not, 'cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone... _

_When you're dreaming with a broken heart _  
_The giving up is the hardest part _  
_She takes you in with her crying eyes _  
_Then all at once you have to say goodbye _  
_Wondering could you stay my love? _  
_Will you wake up by my side? _  
_No she can't, 'cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone... _

_Now do i have to fall asleep with roses in my hands _  
_Do i have to fall asleep with roses in my hands? _  
_Do i have to fall asleep with roses in my hands? _  
_Do i have to fall asleep with roses in my , roses in my hands? _

_Would you get them if i did? _  
_No you won't, 'cause you're gone, gone, gone, gone, gone... _

_When you're dreaming with a broken heart _  
_The waking up is the hardest part_

* * *

It was so real.

I could see her face, feel her warmth, and smell her perfume.

I heard her words.

I turn my head and see the clock. It reads 2:35am.

I try to take a deep breath but my chest feels tight. I need water.

_"Baby, will you bring me a glass too?"_

I pause. I try and re-commit her sound to my memory. It's the first thing to go. Her voice. How soft and sweet she could be. How determined she sounded when I made her mad.

I get my glass of water and return to bed. I climb back in on the left side. My side.

The right is hers.

I hold her pillow to me. I pretend it still smells like her. I know it doesn't but the nights are a little easier if I lie to myself.

Sleep comes to me after an hour of staring at her spot. I imagine her sleeping next to me. Her hand on my chest and my hand on her waist.

This bed has seen us love each other with everything we had.

It's seen me become the loneliest man alive.

If you can call what I am, alive.

I dream. I always do. Some dreams are better than others. Sometimes I'll dream of things that happened that day or I'll dream of things that are in the near future.

My favorite thing to dream about is the past.

The way she would fix me breakfast before my early shifts at the hospital. The way she'd say my name when I left my wet towel on the floor.

I pray to dream about nights when nothing existed but us.

Us and the feelings we made each other feel.

I dream of her again. We're at the beach and she's singing. Her voice is so soft but holds my attention.

It takes me a minute to figure out what song she's singing. I smile.

_"If you can't love me right now...then you can't love me at all."_

She wrote that song for me.

Our senior year of college. I was a typical college guy. Young and scared to admit that I wanted her. For always.

We met in the school library. I knocked a book off the shelf and it landed on her foot.

It took me two weeks to get her to say yes. I loved her that very first date. I've loved her ever since. It took me nine months to say the words.

I almost lost her because of my own fears.

Losing her...that would come later.

The dream is perfect. She's singing my song and I'm loving her with my eyes.

I can't stop. I'll never stop.

She stops singing and scoots closer to me. Her hand goes to my cheek and I relish the feel of her skin against mine.

She changes the last line of the song.

It's supposed to say 'so come over here and love me.'

Now it's all wrong, it's all mixed up.

_"Now remember how you loved me." _

Loved is past tense.

My love for her is very much in the present.

She leans in to kiss me.

I jolt awake, breathing hard.

I can't be in this bed right now. Our bed.

I'm dizzy from my frantic breathing. I roll out of bed and land on my knees.

I ask God to make it stop. The loneliness, the ache, the love. I want to love her for always. Just like I said I would, but some days, or nights, it's just too much.

I want to feel nothing.

The sun rises before I finally make my way off the floor. My knees hurt and my legs are asleep.

I go through my routine. All the while expecting her to pop her head around the corner and ask if it'll be juice or chocolate milk this morning.

Chocolate milk. It was her favorite.

I walk out the door and past the mailbox that still has 'The Cullen's' painted on the side.

It will always be plural. It will always be her and me.

I work. See patients and avoid the single nurses as much as possible. Smile when it's expected. I look the part of the rich, handsome, single doctor.

I'm good at lying. I have perfected the art. Every time I tell my mother I'm fine. I lie.

I groan when I see the new nurse walking toward me. I wonder how many times one has to decline an offer before the person offering gets the point.

She stops and asks me, again, if I'd like to catch a drink after work. My answer is always the same. She smiles but I see her aggravation. She's heard about what happened through the gossip that runs wild here.

My wife has been long gone for nearly a year now. I should be over it. That's what her eyes tell me.

I get a call from my mother-just like every Friday. She asks my plans for the evening. She knows I have none.

I can't go anywhere. Every place in the world reminds me of my Bella.

Mother tells me it would do her good to see me. It's been almost four months since I have. I tell her to move closer to me. I'm not traveling any time soon.

As a doctor's wife, she understands. As my mother, she understands better.

She tells me she'll call again on Sunday. I tell her that I miss her and she conveys her love for me.

I can't say those words anymore. I haven't said them since the last day I saw my Bella.

It's ten in the evening and I take a sip of my scotch. It's rough on me but I need the distraction. One pain for another, I suppose.

I never get drunk. I've done that once since my Bella left. It wasn't pretty and I almost had a criminal record. My anger and frustration finds its way to the surface when alcohol is involved.

I have the TV on and I see the picture but I'm not watching what's on. I have a hard time focusing when I'm not at work. I always end up thinking about her.

I climb into bed just before midnight. It's cold. Just like everything else that she used to be a part of.

I set my alarm for seven-thirty. Saturday mornings are what I wait for.

I dream again, but it's of our wedding day. It's still so vivid.

We got married four years after we met. It was planned completely by her and it turned out perfectly.

She looked beautiful. She was happy and she couldn't stop telling me how happy were going to be forever.

We danced, laughed, and enjoyed_ our_ day.

Before we made love on our wedding night she whispered to me.

"_This is the beginning of something new for us, love. Be with me forever?"_

She knew the answer before I whispered it back. It would only ever be her. I wanted forever. Needed it even.

My alarm goes off right before we make love again. I ignore what making love to her once before, in the dream, has done to my body. Physical want is of no importance to me. I wouldn't be satisfied with anyone other than my Bella.

I shower, dress, eat, and head out to my car. I wave at the neighbor who runs on the weekends. I never talk to her though.

She's cute but nothing like what I want.

I drive for twenty-two minutes and make a right.

I slow down until I'm barely moving and finally pull over.

When I get out, I pull my jacket closed. The wind is cold.

I kneel and brush away the leaves that have deposited since the last Saturday.

_Isabella Marie Cullen_

_September 13, 1980 ~ November 19, 2008_

_Loving wife, daughter, and friend._

"_God lets us borrow his angels"_

I sit and talk to her. I tell her about my week.

I tell her how I've tried so hard to forgive the man who hit her. The stupid man who decided having a couple drinks after work was okay.

I tell her how I continue to go to church and work on forgiving God. I'm not sure I'll ever forgive either one of them. The man or God but I work on it because she'd want me to.

I beg her to come back to me and when the tears come, I don't bother wiping them away.

They'll be replaced a hundred times over before I leave.

I tell her of the dreams I've had during the week. I ask if she remembers our wedding day. I tell her how beautiful she always was.

Then I sit and talk to her with my thoughts.

I replay every time I've thought about her and every dream I've had with her in it.

I've read that some people hate to dream of the person they lost. Why would you hate getting to see them or hear them again?

Then I take a deep breath because I know the answer to my question.

It's not the dreaming that hurts the most. It's the waking up. It's the giving up the sound, smell, and feel of her because no matter how many times I dream of her gorgeous face…

She's still gone.

All I'll ever have are dreams conjured up by a broken heart.

* * *

Here's the link to the song if ya haven't heard it...but's John Mayer...so you definately should have heard it.

www(.)youtube(.)com/watch?v=n1dOE-oeLG0

Let me know what ya think!

-rach.


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